Meditations Upon the Child
by The Guitar Slayer
Summary: Chronologically the first in the You're Lost, Little Girl series, this will be a series of vignettes that will lead up to Bury Me Well and YLLG. Marlene grew up in front of everyone's eyes...though she remained pigtails and crayons to them.
1. Sparks

Disclaimers: All characters belong to Square-Enix. Plotline is mine and is part of the "You're a Lost Little Girl" series. Author's complete notes to follow.

As a little girl readied for the day, she sang, "Sunday, Pancake Day!"

Sunday always had been, ever since she could remember. Daddy was very stern about it – whenever he had to go away, he made sure Tifa knew it was their tradition. And now the older lady downstairs knew it too. Marlene bounced down the steps and took her now customary place at the table. Elmyra turned around and gave her a smile, and Marlene shyly waved. However, before the first fluffy pancake made it out of the griddle, something grabbed her attention. It was a sound – a very welcome one.

Marlene heard the motley crew her father travelled with before she actually saw them. The voices drifted through the air, serious murmurings mixed with raucous laughter. Her tiny face broke into a grin as she looked over the table to Elmyra, who also stood listening, waiting for one certain sound.

Then there it was.

A small, almost imperceptible tap on the side of the house. It was the sound made by Aerith's staff being propped up against the siding, and then it was followed by the comforting sounds of a slight rustle as the contents of her knapsack were ruffled through, and finally a jingling of the house keys. Her daughter was home. Elmyra turned off the griddle and took the plates off the table, almost waltzing her way to the sideboard. Breakfast would wait.

Marlene carefully hopped off of her booster seat and tore through the living room to the front window to look out. She was just tall enough to chin herself on the window sill and see out, if she stood on her tip toes. She was a good girl and knew better than to rap on the glass or press her face up against it. They would be inside soon enough, and she shouldn't dirty up the window – Elmyra would just have to clean it again.

Through the window, she could see a small crowd that always seemed to be growing. Whenever Aerith came home, she always brought new friends with her. However, there was one person that Marlene had the most interest in seeing. His broad form loomed in the window and had to bend over to see into the small house's window. Upon sight, his face broke into a grin. "Aerith, hurry up! I got my little girl in there!"

The light chuckle followed. "Hmmm, now which one is it? That's my bike key, my mailbox key, my diary key, my backdoor key, the garden shed key, the---" Aerith's other hand rose to her mouth to cover her mouth a bit, both in amusement and in minor embarrassment of being so disorganized with her keys. "Here we go."

The key slid into the lock and click, and the door swung up as Barret barrelled through. "Baby!"

Marlene's chubby legs ran as fast as they could carry her across the room to her daddy. "Papa!" Before she knew it, she was swept up into his arms, her face rubbed against her father's whiskers. The scent of motor oil from his fake hand, the smell of cigar smoke, and the same old soap invaded Marlene's nose. While this house was very nice, this was home.

As each person entered in through the door, Marlene felt their essences mingle with this familiar space. She got an inkling of what these new friends would be like….even before she talked to them. Even though Marlene was a very little girl and did not know many things, she did know people. How they felt. Aerith had asked her a few times, when the lady in pink had caught her thinking very, very hard, what she was thinking about. Marlene could not really answer her. She wasn't thinking about anything….she was _feeling_. And she felt everything.

And sometimes it hurt. When she'd been taken away by the funny man with red hair, she felt….that he did not want to hurt her….

But he might have to. Even if he didn't want to. Marlene's lip trembled slightly at remembering. The poor man did not want to hurt the little girl but if the big men in charge said he had to, then he could not say no. She was both frightened of him and yet still felt sorry for him. It was one thing when someone was a bad man…but when someone did not want to be bad but had to be bad anyway, Marlene felt just as sorry for him as she did for herself.

Marlene wiggled in her father's grasp slightly for better positioning to take a look at everyone as they came in, so she could match her feelings with their faces.

Aerith had slung down her knapsack and had bounced into the kitchen to see her mother. Her eternally serene demeanour filled the house, making it seem more complete. Marlene could feel Elmyra's relief washing down over and over in waves. But…

…Marlene could also see something pulling on Aerith. She did not know what it was – it was not bad, but there was a need for her elsewhere.

She felt Tifa squeeze by, her cheer emanating out from a small envelope of shadow. She felt Cloud's inner maelstrom awkwardly sit down on the couch in silence. Red XIII slinked through to stop at the kitchen table, as always curious to see what Elmyra was up to.

A void swept past Marlene. The little cat was robotic; there was nothing to feel, and Marlene was not sure if she wanted too – it was his fault that she had been taken.

Barret turned toward the door that was still filled with people. These three were not immediately comfortable in entering… they were strangers… Her father moved out of the way to allow Aerith and her mother to come through. "Mom, these are Yuffie, Cid, and Vincent. They're coming with us on the trip – do we have room for all of them up here?" Yuffie waved maniacally, Cid turned on a charmer's grin, and the man in the back simply raised and lowered his chin once. Marlene was trying to discern who was projecting what – new people were hard to feel in clumps. She didn't hear any of the conversations that were going on at this moment – she was in her own place of thought.

Elmyra took to her role as den mother for this troop and immediately went to rounding up enough linen for these new people. Tifa went to the kitchen to try and start to cook something large for all of them.

And then Aerith tapped her on the shoulder. Mentally.

Marlene and Aerith had been mutually surprised to find, upon meeting, that they could feel things on the same plane – a plane no one else had access to. That plane of emotions, of being psychic, but yet not. Aerith's was far more developed, naturally strong, and practiced, but Marlene was getting fairly good at it herself. Her early years in a bar had lent themselves to reading people, many people, one after another. At times, the young lady and the little girl had "feeling" conversations – not with words or images, but with feelings as to what was going on.

Interrupting her silent thoughts, Barret murmured to her, "Baby, I got some new friends I want you to meet – you up for that?" Marlene nodded and turned in her father's arms to get a look at the three people still standing near the door.

"Hi! I'm Yuffie! You're such a cute little thing – can I hold her?!" was the rapid fire assault of words that flew out of the girl's mouth. Marlene was nearly bowled over by the sheer energy and strength of this girl's emotions. There was also something to be watched – like she wasn't supposed to be trusted all the way or that she was hiding something from her friends….she definitely did not to be placed into her arms. Marlene shrank back into Barret's shoulder.

"Damn, Yuffie, you startled the hell out of Marlene. Get yo' backside in the kitchen and help Tifa. And calm dawn. Damn, girl." Yuffie pouted for a moment before scampering off into the kitchen.

Aerith called after her, "We don't have anything worth stealing, so forget it."

Reluctance and a bit of sympathy emanated from the next person in line – not surprising given what had just transpired. However, Marlene could still detect him – someone with lots and lots of good on the inside but was really mean on the outside. And someone who had a temper. Not a violent temper, but someone like her daddy in ways. And someone who could not lie very well at all because of all the good that was hidden in there. "Uh, this is Cid. He flies an airship."

Marlene peeled herself off her father's shoulder and looked with interest at the pilot. He stood there, somewhat ill at ease, not quite sure what to do. Marlene waved at him silently. That brought a grin to his unshaven face, and he started to offer a large hand to her… "Ah, I'm a dumbass….something more manageable for you, kid." He reduced is offer to a pointer finger and a thumb, and it was in this odd fashion that they shook hands…cautiously.

Cid's face went back to its normal bravado. "You got any beer here? I need a break."

Aerith crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes, we do, but you only get it if you don't smoke inside."

Cid shrugged, "Fine and fuckin' dandy. Where's the head?"

Aerith sighed and pointed at the stairs. With that, the pilot was gone.

"This is Vincent Valentine, Marlene. He's not a bad guy; he's just sort of scary looking."

At first, Marlene had thought the person at the end of the line was another void – he didn't stand out like Yuffie and Cid did. But now that most of the interference was gone, she could feel him. While very dark and sad, he felt soft on the outside…almost fluid…almost like nothing anyone could say or do to him would make an impact. Like he was dying and he knew it…

But at the very centre, right where he really was, there was a light. A single, brilliant, sharp light. Something so very beautiful inside. She couldn't even describe his feeling and presence like she did with the others….she had to use her eye words. She had the same method, at times with Red XIII, because he was not human…

Not human?

But he looked very human to Marlene. A very sad man. Someone who needed a hug.

Both Barret and Vincent were taken aback when Marlene stretched her small, chubby arms out toward the man in black and red. Vincent's expression did not change, but his body froze where it was. Barret's brow creased as he said to her, "Baby, Vincent isn't much for hugs and stuff. It's just the way he is; there's a lot of people who would give you a hug, no problem."

The little girl nodded. He needed a hug, but he didn't want one right now. Sort of like how she was with naps. Vincent nodded at her, his eyes not meeting hers. He didn't want to give her nightmares.

As Vincent moved to sweep by, he heard a little voice say, "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Valentine."

He stopped midstep for a moment, but continued on. Foolish child. Meeting him was hardly a pleasure. The innocent didn't see his inner self at all – the one filled with demons and scientific abominations. He hoped she didn't make any sort of attachments to him. Having only been awake for a short period, he was unsure how these demons would manifest over the last of his days.

Vincent Valentine hoped these days would be short, swift, and to the point.

However, when Marlene did reading of the people gathered around the table that night, she found that he wasn't the person that was most ready for an end. Her wide eyes met with that person's – hers were scared too, but knowing it would be for the best. Fate had a way of balancing things – life for life.

She knew it.

They both knew it.

And Elmyra never knew that that night would be the last her daughter slept under her roof.


	2. Tears from on High

The moment the lightning illuminated the building where Vincent Valentine had taken a temporary haven from the raging storm, he knew this wasn't going to end well for him.

In the aftermath of Meteorfall, after pulling themselves out of the wreckage of the Highwind, the remnants of AVALANCHE had immediately been pressed into duty, eliminating creatures that had been displaced during the Meteor Disaster from the outlying regions of Midgar. The survivors of the crippled city migrated there, and this resulted in a need for pest control. Vincent Valentine had planned on disappearing, to walk the earth, to catch up with things…but he understood the importance of one's duty. It should always outrank desire and selfishness, lest order be disrupted and the larger picture endangered.

It was his fault the world was in this state. The least he could do was fix it. And then there was the glaring fact he had killed the corrupted innocent who had wrought all this as a result of Vincent's actions (or lack thereof). He could not leave yet.

And so Vincent found himself in a partially constructed warehouse in the midst of a lightning storm, realizing that he had just stumbled upon a nest of freshly spawned monsters. Their mothers were quite interested in this source of food, as slight as it was.

He held himself absolutely still, holding his breath and trying to make himself as undetectable as he could. He allowed his enhanced senses to feel their way around the room. The young were born blind as far as human vision went, but they managed to find their mothers amidst the numerous broods sharing this small space. A combination of scent and possibly heat seeking…

Well, being dead, he was sort of a sore thumb. This was made evident by what appeared to be the alpha female rounding on him with two of her associates in tow. Looking above, he saw that they were hardly the only ones that were eagerly awaiting his demise.

He straightened his tired, soaked body, reloaded the water-logged Death Penalty and one of his closer range guns, checked to see that his materia was in the correct slots, and then pushed the rain-sodden bandana back up on his forehead. This was going to be…a challenge.

* * *

Motherfucking rain. Goddamn motherfucking shitty-ass rain. Cid hated wet socks. He could already feel the blisters just waiting to savage his feet the second he took a load off. He ducked into an alley with an overhang and was nearly overcome with joy as he was finally able to light a ciggie. It'd been raining since Meteor had decided to take a bite out of Midgar. Atmospheric disruption, he figured. Sort of like how seeder planes paid visits to drought-ridden areas in order to stimulate the clouds. And if it had to be said, Cid would say it: the sky had gotten a hell of a handjob from the huge fucking piece of space dust that had barged in on them.

A piercing shriek shattered his bliss and startled him to the point where he nearly swallowed his cigarette. "Goddammit, can't a man light up without being nagged at around here?" Cid Highwind retreated back into the alley a bit further, spear raised slightly and looking for whatever it was that had made that noise.

Another yowl seemed to emanate from a warehouse further down the street. Cid cautiously peered around the corner and watched the building for a moment before a huge flare with dancing skulls razed the building to the ground.

He knew that send-up anywhere. He'd seen it when the gang had downed that white-haired pansy boy back up north.

When asked, "Satan Slam" was the response given by the creature that was part of his team and yet not. It had smirked and cackled, chilling Cid to the bone and at least unsettling a fair majority of the others. He was never sure about Spike actually recognizing anything beyond the Mama's Boy in the Northern Crater. And then its keeper regained control, just in time for all of them to scramble back into the Highwind and get the hell out of there.

"Valentine, you motherfucker, you better not be dead by the time I get there." Cid angrily stomped out his cigarette and hefted his weapon as he charged toward the building. Shit, he was gonna lose that potbelly of his faster than he could say Jack Robinson at this rate. Shera would be thrilled, since "it's a strain on your heart." Eh, fuck that. He'd drink more beer to celebrate once this mess was over and more than make up for whatever physical activity he'd done over the last few months.

By the time he made it to the door of what _was_ the warehouse, there wasn't much left. Vincent's alter ego was nothing if not thorough. Cid let out a low whistle as he realized he couldn't approach that amount of heat without singeing his eyebrows. "Oh, come on, shoot out of there, Valentine. I don't wanna go in there," Cid muttered. "Might dry my socks though."

There was a long creak as the front wall of the warehouse finally collapsed upon itself, sending debris out into the street. Cid stared intently into the blaze. No movement. Ahhhh fuck. Not taking his eyes off of the inferno, he untied his jacket from around his waist and shrugged it back on, cringing slightly at the moldy scent it had started take on. He turned the collar up and chucked his cigarettes and his three spare lighters to the ground. He pulled his pilot's gloves back on. He needed these paws when he got back to the garage.

Cid Highwind took a deep breath, which nearly blew out a button on his jacket and started to head into the fire. He felt the heat on his face, and he wished that he'd had a hat or something because he was pretty sure his head, as wet as it was, was gonna light up and--

Fortunately for him, a red, black, and gold blur shot past him and toppled over onto the asphalt. Cid paused, one foot past the foundation line of the warehouse where the wall once stood. "Valentine, you made me go through all that psychological bullshit for nothing!" he barked at the form. "Goddammit, I was getting ready to charge in there to save your scrawny ass, and there you go, blasting your way out. Fuck you." Cid strode past the prone body on the ground and reclaimed his smoking paraphernalia. He lit up and puffed nervously once or twice.

Vincent was being awful quiet, even for Vincent.

Cid blinked. "Vince, you there?" Clenching the cigarette between his teeth, he knelt down and pulled at the cape that covered him.

"Holy shit." There lay Chaos, seemingly dead to the world. Cid immediately pulled his hands back, waiting to see if they'd be ripped off by Valentine's ill-gotten pet. That fear was quickly overridden by the fact that somewhere in there, Vincent wasn't moving or talking.

Cid yanked his gloves off and put his hand around Chaos's neck. "You better have a pulse in a fucking decent place, you sonuvabitch."

Fortunately, Chaos was enough of a humanoid to have some sort of carotid artery, despite it being under several layers of thick scaly armour. It was sluggish, Cid supposed. He was comparing it to human standards and this…thing certainly wasn't human. Neither was Vincent, he supposed, though he'd never gotten up close and personal with Vincent's neck, nor did he let Vampy anywhere near his own.

Cid couldn't see whether or not Vincent was just stunned or what. The demon's armoured skin was hiding an awful lot. "Oh, come on, Valentine. I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong." He experimentally tried lifting an arm – the faster they got back to base, the better. "Shiiiiiiit, you weigh a ton. Guess you drank your milk when you were a kid – fucking bones like cinderblocks." Cid yanked out his PHS and signalled Barret.

"Yo, what up?"

Cid sat back on his heels as the adrenaline started a deep drop back to normal. "Vincent's buddy Chaos decided to have a pyromaniac episode and burned down half of Midgar. The fucker knocked himself out or something – I dunno what the hell happened, but he's out for the count, and he musta ate a girder or like six people while he was in there because I can't even lift an arm without breaking a sweat."

"That's because yo' fat ass hasn't done any heavy lifting other than a 40-ounce beer can to your lips."

"Fuck off, if I wanted to hear that shit, I'd go home."

"Nobody stopping you."

"Shut the hell up and get your giant fluffy sailor-boy ass over here and help me carry Vampy back before he wakes up and eats me or something."

"I thought you said he was full."

"I don't fucking know when he last ate, he just feels full."

"The hell do you know when a vampire's full? Blood's liquid. Is he sloshing when you move him or some shit like that?"

"Fuck, it must have coagulated or something – gotten solid or --- …..fuck, just get over here and pick the sonuvabitch up, you meathead."

"Fine. See you, shorty."

"Blow me."

Cid clicked the PHS off. It was then he realized that Vincent was slowly coming out from within Chaos or Chaos was receding, however one looked at it. Gradually, Vincent's own clothes became superimposed over Chaos' body as a black, oily mist surrounded him. Cid inched backwards slightly, watching with fascination. Vincent had always hid himself whenever he came or went as Chaos – one of things where a person doesn't want to be seen at his worst.

Cid could understand that.

But then… "Jumpin' Jesus on a pogo stick, turn back, Vince!" Cid scrambled to rip the cloak off Valentine's shoulders and hastily pressed it against the wounds that were opening on his comrade. God, there were too many to get 'em all. Cid hastily picked what looked to be the biggest, baddest one and wadded up the cloak. He put all of his weight on it, practically sitting on Vincent. "Hurry the hell up, Barret." Cid's blue eyes widened as he realized that Vincent's thick cloak and his weight was doing very little to stop the bleeding. Despite the darkness and the excessive amounts of rain already on the ground, it was clear that the puddle of red liquid surrounding Vincent was growing at a rapid rate. "Must have nicked an artery…shit."

It was at that moment that Vincent's eyes shot open. Seemingly ignoring Cid altogether, he rose up, a creepy re-enactment of his rise from the coffin months before. The blonde man found himself shoved off to the side as Vincent, as if under a spell, reached inside of his cloak and pulled out the Death Penalty. Cid let out another low whistle. If he thought Vincent was in bad shape, the gun proved that Vincent had been relatively careful. The gun seemed to be held together by Vincent's grip on it. Vincent pushed himself to his feet and, by some ungodly power, started to walk, using the remains of the Death Penalty as a cane. Cid snapped himself out of it and scrambled to his feet. The shorter man tried to get a grip on the taller man's shoulders. "Hey, sit the hell back down. Barret's coming."

It was then that Vincent seemed to realize that Cid was standing there and talking to him. He turned his red eyes upon him. "Earth to Vincent…." Cid trailed off.

His face was deeply lined, not by age, but by agony of a few varieties. Physical, obviously. But there was more there. Cid had seen it before on the poor bastards who had had to raid Wutaiian villages during the war. It was the fact they had to live and be good soldiers after killing children that made their lives hell. They knew on the inside they were anything but. Cid knew Vincent was carrying around more baggage than an airport, between the mad scientist, the dead girlfriend, and now her dead kid. What disturbed Cid most was that Vincent's eyes seemed to be hollow. Nobody was home anymore – not anyone he knew or was living. The eyes seemed disappointed that the body had to trudge on through this existence. Vincent wanted to rest in peace, but even lying down back in Niebelheim couldn't grant that. He knew that. The weary traveller indeed – no end to the journey in sight, given how his body was now unable to age.

Suddenly, the eyes crackled to life again, as a fire relit. Vincent took a jagged breath in and the sad lines in his face were replaced by those of a sneer. "Vince..?"

Vince raised his gun to aim it directly at Cid. The cigarette fell from between Cid's lips as shock came over him. "Oh, fuck, man, don't go mental on me."

The trigger was pulled, and a deafening boom went off.

Cid squeezed his eyes shut, only cracking them slightly as he heard pieces of the Death Penalty fall to the ground and skitter away. _"Holy fuck, my head still attached…..Valentine missed?"_ Cid wasn't sure what scenario was more worrying: Vincent trying to shoot him, or Vincent trying to shoot him and failing.

Vincent allowed his arm to drop to the side as his knees buckled slightly. The shell casings clattered to the ground, and with an amazing amount of dexterity, Vincent unloaded the gun and pocketed the shells. Then he leaned heavily on the remains of the gun, exhausted by his efforts.

Cid cautiously turned around, and his jaw dropped as he saw what was probably the biggest critter he'd seen in the area. Its brains were now splattered on the building behind them. "Alpha male. I exterminated the rest of his pack and offspring."

Cid turned back around and crossed his arms over his middle. "Well, fuck, if you didn't do a good job of pissing him off." He tilted his head slightly. "I hear Barret. Let's get you back to Tifa, and quick."

Vincent looked at him oddly for a moment before realizing the pain in his chest. "Yes, that would be…advisable." He felt his hand slip down the barrel of the gun and the wet ground collide with a knee.

It was the last lucid thought he had for quite awhile. The pain was absolutely excruciating. He heard a series of voices, heavy footfalls rushing toward him, and then had the distinct impression that he was moving, though not under his own power. His gun, now useless and broken, slipped out of his hands. The street under his dragged feet changed from the upturned asphalt to the cobblestones of a familiar neighbourhood.

"Cloud radio'ed me when he heard," came the voice of a very young girl. "Is Vincent OK? Can I help?"

"Move your skinny ass before I kick it out of the way."

"Get him on the table," he heard an older woman say. Tifa.

And then…he heard a small cry. His foggy mind took a moment to figure out who and what it was.

He realized that he was being sloppy with his emotions again. Time seemed to stop as his mind seized upon one vivid memory...


	3. Gagged and Bound

"Aerith," he rumbled. The girl looked up from her study of the lake in front of them. Sundown was rapidly approaching, and Vincent had been charged with tracking down the young woman and bringing her back to camp.

"Hey, Vincent. How are you doing?" she answered cheerily, as she stood up and brushed off the stray strands of grass she had been playing with.

He grunted in response. Aerith allowed herself a small smile – it was an improvement from the silence he had maintained when he had first joined their group a few weeks before. The two of them headed back toward the camp where the rest of their troop was waiting for them. They crunched through crisp evening, breaking the leaves of plants that dared to stretch into their path. "You've been quiet lately."

Vincent looked over his shoulder, never breaking his stride. His eyebrow rose ever so slightly. She giggled despite herself. "Yes, I know you're quiet anyway, but now it seems to be a thoughtful quiet more than a dwelling quiet." He turned his head back to face forward. "I think that's a bit better than before."

Aerith quickened her steps so that she walked in front of Vincent and then turned. She walked backwards up the path, trying to make eye contact with the man. "Vincent, I know you've been bothered by something since you left my mother's house…"

"Not bothered."

"Then what?"

He grunted again. Aerith blew some air upward to move her bangs out of her eyes. "Come on. I know you won't talk once everyone else is around. I've not said anything of the small conversations we've had. I'm sure Cid would clutch his chest at the thought of you speaking freely, and while that's a rather amusing to think of, I don't think you'd like it."

"Correct."

Aerith, still walking backwards, put her hands on her hips. "You're being so grumpy. Consistent, but gru-"

Vincent had a moment where he thought_, "Knew that was going to happen soon,"_ as he saw Aerith start to tumble backwards over a tree root. The moment passed as quickly as it entered his head, and he lurched forward to catch her. His cape fluttered backwards over one shoulder, exposing the rest of his wiry frame.

Aerith realized that she could take her hands out of their brace position on her head and neck, as she had stopped her descent. She opened her eyes and took note of the awkward position Vincent had caught her in, waiting for her grab onto his arms. He had planted his feet behind the guilty root and had extended his torso and arms as far as they could go so that she had landed with his hands on her shoulder blades. She was safe in his hands (well, hand and claw), but he couldn't hold that position forever…

Aerith gripped Vincent's upper arms firmly, and she allowed him to set her right on her feet. "You all right?" He immediately withdrew his hands, but he still left his cape off to one side. Aerith was internally pleased – he finally was thinking about something else hard enough to forget to hide. His black shirt and pants were definitely black, and not just a shadow cast by the cape. And yes, the armor he wore was also gold, like his boots.

She nodded, blushing appropriately. "Seems I can't walk and talk at the same time!" she laughed. But that stopped as soon as she saw the look on Vincent's face. "Vincent?"

He was staring at her, slightly curious and slightly suspicious. "When you stumbled, I felt like someone was probing me or watching me." His eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm not fond of such a feeling." His monotone was low, but steady.

Aerith watched with dread as he folded himself back inside of his cape, withdrawing further than she thought possible. She could even feel the ice flaking off him. "It's…" she sighed and sat down on a log on the side of the path.

"I felt the same at your home, Aerith." His voice, while still unemotional for the most part, had taken on an accusatory edge.

"Sit down. I need to explain it." He did not do as he was asked. He remained above her. Aerith allowed him this positional superiority. "Vincent, you know that … I feel things about the planet, right?"

"As the last of the Ancients, I suppose you should." Vincent's poker face had returned. The intelligence behind the eyes betrayed the indifferent carriage of the bearer.

Aerith folded her hands around one knee, pulling it to her chest. "I feel people as well. I try not to make it intrusive or anything, but…it's empathy. I don't know everyone's life story, so I can't sympathize, but knowing that I've had a similar emotion to that…that's empathy."

"I'm aware of the dictionary definitions, unless they've changed in thirty years."

Aerith stuck out her tongue at him. "I'm just trying to explain it…because it's hard. It's like I can read your mind, but I can't."

"Why then?" Vincent tilted his head slightly. In response to her quizzical expression, he took a slightly deep intake of breath than usual. "If you can't gain knowledge, why …do it?" His feet shifted.

Aerith took note of the change, and the pieces came together. Vincent, normally so grounded and stable, had been forced to move – to react. Someone made him do something; he was the puppet. His hand had been forced, having no power to refuse action.

Aerith, a fellow victim, had put him back on Hojo's table. And she'd just told him it was for no reason – she had nothing to gain from his mind or his feelings, just as the mad scientist had garnered very little data from his body over the years.

She drew herself to her feet. He remained motionless. At least he hadn't drawn back even further physically. "Vincent, when I fell, my control slipped – I know people can sense when I 'feel them out.' But I wasn't the one who…touched you at my mother's house." Her hands gripped the side of her pockets, slightly nervous. _"Oh, Vincent, you'd come so far. I hope I haven't rubbished it."_

"Who?"

Aerith sighed. She knew he'd ask that question, though she hoped that he wouldn't. "Marlene."

Vincent's elegant brows arched in surprise, climbing behind his bandana. "Barret's daughter?"

She nodded. "Barret doesn't know too much about her parents' heritage, so I can't say…but she does feel things like I do. She feels people more, and she's so young…I think she's more sensitive than I am that way. She feels the Planet, too, but not like me." Aerith paused a moment, murmuring to almost to herself, "Never like me." She closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them to look at Vincent. "She's just learning how to keep from being overwhelmed by everyone's feelings."

Vincent seemed lost in thought for a few moments. Aerith plowed onward. "Remember how she reacted to Yuffie? Meeting her is the equivalent of being hit by a truck, emotionally."

"It would almost be preferential," rumbled Vincent.

Aerith was relieved – a sign of good humour. "She probably found you to be a wonderful contrast to that. Despite outer appearances, she wasn't scared of you right off, because she could feel—"

"She should be very frightened of me." Vincent abruptly turned and started to walk up the path back toward camp again. "I am."

Aerith was at a loss momentarily. Despite the rein she had on her sensing abilities, she felt the raw emotion flare up from the man. Oh, if Marlene thought Yuffie was a hard knock, wait until she met Vincent on an off-day.

"Vincent!" she called up the road once she regained her voice. He turned back toward her half-way. She marched herself up the road and despite the fact she knew Vincent could easily break her into two pieces (one for dinner and one for a midnight snack), jabbed him in the chest with her finger. "Trust yourself. And the rest of us."

Vincent looked down at her finger, the only sign that he was even aware of her. "Marlene…" Aerith removed her finger and continued with a bit of fatigue in her voice. "Just remember she has to cope with everyone's dark streaks and ulterior motives. She's four, Vincent. She can't even censor herself, let alone Tseng or Reno or…" Everything from kidnappers to terrorists to Shinra to….

For the first time since he had emerged from the coffin, she saw his features soften. He'd gotten her point. "I'll…try to keep my more negative emotions away from her. And from you."

"I already know they exist, and I'm a grown-up. More or less." It was a fairly new concept to her still, but she'd accepted it as fact once the journey had started. "You're not alone, Vincent. Control your emotions, but don't shut people out."

Vincent didn't answer her, but Aerith was pretty sure she didn't need a verbal confirmation of her message. The two made their way up the road toward the rest of the group, who were noisily getting dinner ready.

Vincent didn't realize that he would only speak to Aerith once more before her lips were stilled forever.

* * *

He felt him being lifted up and back, his cloak falling away. A bright light shone outside of his eyelids. A red streak that he saw next made his eyes shoot open and sense everything hyperacutely. He could hear Marlene crying in the next year, hear Yuffie gagging at what remained of him, smell Tifa's makeshift hospital – bleach and alcohol and other abrasive smells in between, see the lights that had their bar shades ripped off so he could be better seen…everything, including his own body's interior rumblings. 

Too damaged. The human was too damaged. Unless there was some sort of Divine Intervention, the host would fail.

Since the Divine had stopped dealing with the human so many years before, the Damned rose to the occasion.

The beast was simmering in his blood, and there was not much time left before… "Bind me."

Tifa's hands flew over the first aid kit, desperately seeking enough gauze to stop the bleeding. Her eyes widened when Vincent's claw gripped her wrist with a startling amount of strength for a man in his condition. She found herself caught in his gaze, as a cell under a microscope. "Bind me now. I don't have time."

Suddenly, Vincent's hand flexed and stiffed, dropping her hand back toward the medical kit. His normally impassive face tensed up, jaw tightening and eyes straining to focus on a point somewhere in the back of the bar, beyond the realm of human vision.

If he were fully human, Vincent supposed that this sort of pain would have killed him. Tifa pressed her lips into a thin line. "Do it. Tie him down. Use the cables off the truck in the back." Her long thin hands reached out to Vincent's face, one pushing the hair the bandana failed to catch back, and the other on the side of his jaw. "Vincent, you have to stick with me long enough…I know you don't want to hurt me."

Vincent nodded, eyes never wavering from his focal point, his face chalk white. Cloud jogged from the room with Barret and Cid behind him, Cid clutching his mechanic's tools.

"Tifa…" Vincent pushed the words past his lips. She immediately stopped all motion, as if any unplanned moves would silence him. "…Tell Marlene I'm fine. Absolutely fine."

He could hear the little girl's crying in the next room fade even as he said the words. All is temporary, even pain. A private mantra was repeated until the screaming in his brain ceased…and as he felt the ropes go around his wrists, ankles, and waist, he let it all go, and Chaos rose, safely restrained, repairing the weak host's body.


	4. Creatures That Go Bump in the Night

"Vincent. You either lie down, or I'll knock you flat for your own good."

Tifa stood in the doorway to his private room, hands on her hips, aggrieved by the lanky gunman's insistence upon disobeying orders. The rain pattered on the roof of the bar, the darkness having not lifted despite the coming of day. There he stood, stitched back together by unnatural forces, materia, and a bit of catgut; while Chaos had closed the major wounds, repaired organs, and regenerated the burned flesh, he was not concerned with cosmetic consequences, leaving Tifa to do needlework on Vincent.

"I can assure you that I am intact."

"In one piece, yes, but that's all you have going for you."

Vincent coolly arched an eyebrow as he gingerly put his arms through the sleeves of his black shirt, wincing as he shrugged the shirt forward. "Being as you decided that Chaos' efforts were inadequate, you should realize I have been through worse with less care." The long nimble fingers went to work buttoning the shirt, starting at the middle.

"That just means I need to care a little bit more for you to make up for it all. Knocking you on your ass will show exactly how much I care for you, but I'd really like to save my fists for later." She watched as he finished buttoning up the shirt and then reached for the bandana on the bed. "Don't you dare."

He paused momentarily – and then started to gingerly lift the bandana toward his forehead.

With an exasperated sigh, Tifa stalked over and snatched it out of his hands. "I'm not letting you put my work to waste by splitting your stitches open. I told you lifting your arms would be bad." As she lectured him, she smoothly pulled his hair back, tied the bandana on, and then adjusted a few strands to fall into his face – the usual Vincent hairstyle.

She was rewarded with a quirk of the lips. "You'll be a wonderful mother someday."

Her face softened as she adjusted his collar as well. "Unless I'm in prison for murdering every single one of you. You're more frustrating than children – they don't know any better. You all do."

Vincent's expression remained the same as he gently brushed past her to reach an armoire. Oh boy. Tifa braced herself as Vincent flung the door open...and didn't find his guns. Any of them.

"Where." It was not a question – it was a demand. Tifa knew that this was a bad, bad idea.

"You're not going out tonight."

"Oh, am I." Vincent whirled around on his pointy golden heels, the red eyes seeming to darken. Tifa would have gulped if she didn't know that Vincent, as angry as he was, would never lay a hand on her. The look he was giving her was utterly murderous though.

"Vincent..."

"Tifa..."

He watched her as she gently shut the closet door and leaned up against it, arms crossed. "Death Penalty is pretty wrecked – it managed to come out of that fight worse than you."

"I have smaller firearms."

"I'm out of catgut, and I can't sew you up again."

"I'll deal with it."

"Nope. You're grounded, flyboy."

"I wonder how many times Cid has heard that..."

As if on cue, the blonde scruffy man stuck his head into the room, "Fuck you, Valentine." They heard stomping down the hall...then almost sheepish steps back. "Uh...glad you're ok." Cid stuck his head back inside, hand going up to rub the back of his neck.

"Thanks, Chief."

An awkward pause followed. Tifa knew this meant nothing good – it gave Cid time to think, which was a dangerous prospect. And then - "So this dying thing is how you get hot chicks into your room, Vince."

"It's a good way to go." Vincent's eyes remained a dark red, but the light seemed to dance in them. And then he reached over to tug Tifa toward him, by the waist. Her eyes widened momentarily, but laughter started to consume her as Cid's expression turned to one of abject horror. Vincent wore an utterly wolfish grin to complete the scene.

And then Yuffie bounced by, initially hellbent on seeing Vincent.

Upon viewing things as they were, she quickly departed, bawling her eyes out.

After Cid pulled himself off the floor, where he had fallen down from laughing quite hard, he wiped his eyes. "Goddamn, wish I had your life. Got Tifa into your arms and made the midget have a psychotic break in 30 second or less." He reached around the doorway into the hallway and picked his spear up, which had been leaning against the wall. "I'm going out for patrol. Listen to the Bearer of the Awesome Rack, ok, Vince?" Before Tifa could find something to throw, Cid had waddled at top speed down the stairs, cackling away.

Tifa signed and looked at Vincent. "Can you promise me you'll stay? As a favour?"

Vincent paused, then mentally went through an inventory of his body. Functioning, functioning, adequate, healing and weak, functioning, intact, intact, ...painfully healing...

"Only as a favour to you. I will recover rapidly and be on my usual duty again tomorrow."

Tifa's eyes held his gaze. "If you're better. And I'll be the judge of that."

Vincent bowed slightly, as much as his injuries would allow. "Then we are agreed."

Tifa nodded. "Marlene is sleeping in her room, but I don't think she'll give you any trouble."

"I'll keep an ear out for her."

* * *

The lightning cracked across the sky, seemingly rending it in two. Vincent looked up from his novel momentarily, quietly counting the seconds between the strike and the thunder. The thunder rumbled low, shaking the loose floorboards in the bar. While disapproving of the shoddy workmanship, he also recognized that this was just a temporary place for the Seventh Heaven until Edge was set to be populated.

Despite the crack of energy, the sound of piercing rain ricocheting off the roof, and thunder, Vincent's acute hearing picked up another, minor noise from the back of the bar. He consulted his timepiece briefly. No one would have been back yet for the shift change. Ever mindful of his own physical limitations, he eased himself up and out of the chair to a standing position. He allowed his back to straighten one vertebra at a time before he took a careful step. Adequate.

Vincent crept silently around the bar, past the kitchen, and into the small living quarters there. His concussion had temporarily diminished the effectiveness of his night vision, but it was still far better than any normal human's. He could make out a small shape pressed against the window. Recalling his own distant childhood, he spoke out softly. "Marlene, come away from the window."

She turned to look at him, wide-eyed. "The thunder woke me up."

Vincent nodded silently. They both resumed their vigil on the weather for a few minutes. Realizing that Barret would hardly be pleased if his little girl started adapting his own nocturnal habits, Vincent crossed the room to her so as not to startle her. "Does any of this frighten you?"

Marlene shook her head straightaway. Vincent tilted his head slightly, not saying a word. Her mouth twitched and puckered slightly, resisting the honest answer. Finally she nodded, head low. Vincent could not help but note the slight irony; the child had watched the Apocalypse from her bedroom, and yet thunder and lightning still set her on edge. "The bar is slightly better insulated against the sound from where I was sitting. I'll return you to your room when you are more at ease."

Marlene eagerly hopped off the sill clutching her doll in her left hand, ran to him and latched onto Vincent's gauntlet, unthinkingly. Vincent looked down to observe Marlene's slow realization of what she was holding onto, and her slightly quicker step; she was nearly pulling _him_ into the bar. She was too polite to drop it but she certainly wasn't comfortable with it. Best to get it over with quick.

Vincent didn't fault her for her assessment. It horrified him too.

They reached the room, and Marlene detached herself and darted over to the tiny table that had been set up for her by Barrett. It wasn't much – cinderblocks and plywood, with a small footstool as its chair. But it had been lovingly crafted, triple thick and cut into a perfect circle. His girl may not have a table of the best material, but damned if it wouldn't be stable! Colouring on a wobbly surface simply wasn't acceptable to the man. She immediately set herself to her crayons and colouring book, putting the doll on the table next to her, sitting up to supervise.

Well, that was simple enough. Vincent slowly made his way back to his chair and lowered himself in. He picked up his book again and found his place on the memorized page number.

Time passed, and Vincent felt someone looking at him. Well, very few guesses as to who that was. However, he would not give the game away yet. Shifting his position slightly, he was able to observe Marlene while giving her the impression that he was deeply engrossed in his book.

Marlene was colouring at a much slower pace now, carefully. Her eyes were on him, but not on his face or the side closest to her. No, it was almost as if she was looking out the window...but she was fixated on something still within the shack. Puzzling. There was his chair, his cloak on the back of it, him, and his mug of coffee. If he could not go out, he would stay in and keep watch until the rest came home.

Vincent had been very curious as a little boy, and occasionally, such behaviour came back (and kicked him in the ass, as Cid would put it). So he chose the most direct course of satisfying this curiosity regarding the four-year-old. Politely, he said, "What are you looking at?"

Poor Marlene jumped in her seat, her knees knocking against the plywood table and scattering the crayons on either side of the table. She squeaked and immediately dove to the floor to clean up her mess. A smile threatened Vincent's lips, but he restrained himself.

* * *

Marlene could feel her ears burn – the rest of her felt like it was in that cool alcohol that Tifa put on cuts, but her ears felt red hot, like she needed a fire engine. She picked up the red and blue crayons and put them on the table. She hadn't meant for Mr. Valentine to catch her. It was just...

She had always been a curious little girl, and boy, had it gotten her into trouble. She really needed to stop being a nosey girl, like her Daddy said. The orange and yellow crayons were retrieved and put back on the table too. But Mr. Valentine was very different from everyone else in the whole world, and she didn't understand why. He was dressed very funnily. The green and brown crayons were found, and a few inches away was the purple crayon.

Marlene had been so engrossed in retrieving her crayons that she nearly jumped again when she felt Mr. Valentine's presence much closer. She looked up from her kneeling position on the floor. There he stood, matching the crayon he was holding in his right hand. The one that wasn't...

He wasn't as big as usual because he was hurt. Marlene could tell it had been very, very bad last night. He didn't have the same confidence in his steps. And he would have bent down to give her the crayon if could have...she could tell he was very uncomfortable.

So Marlene stood up and took the black crayon from his hand. She gazed up at his pale face silently. It was blank as usual, but his eyes seemed to think something was funny...

She'd made him laugh on the inside! The small shard of light within that thick, black velvet wrapping vibrated slightly. Marlene almost missed the fact that he had asked her the question again. "What were you looking at?"

Marlene didn't open her mouth to answer. She simply tilted her head to her right and seemed to examine something again. She could see Mr. Valentine stare at her, slightly puzzled, then follow her gaze. There was silence, and then Marlene felt a very odd feeling bubble up from him. It came and went so quickly that she couldn't tell what it was. Whatever it was, it caused him to shift his standing position slightly to allow the arm to drop behind him, out of her direct line of sight.

Marlene suddenly found her voice. "I already saw it." She turned her eyes back up toward Mr. Valentine, who towered over her with his thin frame, clothed entirely in black, except for his bandana and his claw.

Mr. Valentine seemed to realize what he had done. "Yes. Yes, you have." He resumed his normal position, his left arm and claw hanging at his side again.

"Why do you wear it?" Once Marlene had enough courage to start something, she was going to finish it. She was a very stubborn little girl, like her daddy said.

* * *

Quite frankly, Vincent couldn't believe that he was allowing himself to be interrogated by a four-year-old. He probably should have sent her back to bed after giving her a glass of milk or offering a bedtime story or whatever it was that Tifa did. Too late now.

"When Hojo..." Vincent stopped and actively contemplated what his response would be. Details did not suit the occasion, absolutely not. "It was disfigured a very long time ago."

Marlene scrunched up her face. "What's 'disfigured' mean?"

Right. She was four. "It means that it doesn't look the way it should. It doesn't look like yours." Vincent pointed looked at her chubby little left arm.

This time, Marlene followed his gaze and examined her own arm and hand, wiggling the fingers a bit. "What does it look like?"

"...Scary." As honest, accurate, and detailed as he was going to get.

"Oh." Marlene's eyes slowly travelled back to his arm again. He had the sinking feeling that she wasn't satisfied yet. And he was correct. "Can I see it?"

"I don't think you want to," he answered firmly, voice rumbling. Marlene's eyes widened a moment, and Vincent quickly saved himself. "Why don't you go back to work?"

Marlene wasn't stupid, and she quickly abandoned the subject. Vincent watched as she scurried back to her table and went right back to what she had been doing.

Crisis averted. He supposed. Vincent went back to his novel, and this time, he was so deeply absorbed in it that he did not look up again until Marlene had returned from her bedroom. She now wore tiny little bunny slippers that were quite warm indeed. Yuffie, of all people, had bought them for her, as well as a pair for herself. "I don't care if the world's ending, my feet are going to be toasty!"

He noted that the room had gotten colder as the night and the storm had worn on. He sat up and gingerly put his cloak on to stay warm.

It was not long before a deep rumble of thunder rocked the little bar again, and this time, the lights flickered then dimmed. Vincent heard Marlene gasp a little. "It's a brown-out," he informed her.

"What's that?"

"Means that we have less power than before, but it's not all gone," Vincent replied as he stood up carefully and walked over to the bar. He put his novel down on it and stepped behind to see if Tifa had laid in a stock of candles. Indeed, she had. He reached until the bar and pulled out a few tumblers and hi-ball glasses, putting a candle in each.

Vincent ran his hands along the bar until he found a matchbook left over from either Cid or Barrett and started lighting the candles one by one. He glided around the bar, attempting to shine light around its two occupants, as well as by the entry and windows. Vincent figured that it if it was truly storming by the time patrol ended, they would need all they could get in finding their way to base.

Once this task was completed, he turned his attention back to Marlene. She had been dead quiet during this entire process, watching him. Rather, watching his arm. If Vincent had been any more paranoid than he already was, he would have sworn she was plotting how to get the claw off.

Vincent mentally kicked his Turk self. _"She's FOUR."_ She was likely quite curious but hardly conniving. Yet.

The lights flickered and came back on at full strength. Vincent decided he would leave the candles out anyway just in case. In the full light, Vincent could see that Marlene definitely was dwelling on the notion of his claw. Vincent had thought that during the thirty years of restless slumber, all people had lost any sort of an attention span (minus Cloud's obsession, Tifa's knack for snowboarding, and Cid's gambling problem with chocobo racing). Yet, there was Marlene, still stuck on the claw.

...Well. No harm done as long as he kept the black glove on. When the procedures had first happened, the extra protection provided by the claw had been necessary. By the time that had healed, sometime within the last thirty years, he had grown used to it and saw no need to remove it. It was a reminder of what he had failed to do.

Plus it matched the boots.

Vincent approached Marlene's small table and carefully lowered himself to the floor. Seated there, he was about eye level with Marlene, who was still perched on her stool. "What have you been drawing?"

She wordlessly picked up her picture and held it in front of her. It was them. Well, almost all of them. He could see Cloud, Tifa, Barrett, Cid, part of Yuffie drawn standing in front of a house – no, wait, there was a "7" on it, so it was the old 7th Heaven. There was a girl dressed in pink with angel wings floating on a green sea slightly below everyone.

Aerith.

He supposed that he was relieved that she hadn't draw her with a sword through her. That meant they had been discreet enough in discussing her end. Yet Marlene understood something of Life Stream and Aerith returning to the earth...

Had Aerith told her? The possibility darted out at Vincent, mildly startling him. He remember back to their conversation in the woods, one of the last ones.

"I still hafta put in Yuffie and Cait Sith and Red and you. Red needs lots of orange and red crayon. You're last cuz I don't want to run out of black crayon for anyone else," Marlene stated matter-of-factly.

"Very clever of you."

There was a pause. Then: "Would you like to colour with me?"

Vincent's eyebrows briefly disappeared under his bandanna. "I... might get wax stuck in the claw." He winced at the weakness of that excuse.

Marlene solemnly nodded, then went for her blue crayon to finish up Yuffie. "That said, I suppose it would kill two birds with one stone if I removed it."

And it was as simple as that. He undid the clasps of the golden claw, extracting each gloved finger from it carefully, and placing it on the table, right next to Marlene's doll. He flexed his hand experimentally, then reached for a sheet of paper. Out of his peripheral vision, he could tell the golden monstrosity had Marlene's rapt attention. She cautiously extended a hand toward it, as if it would bite her. When it didn't immediately lurch out and latch on, her fingers made contact and explored the inside and outside of the shell.

Meanwhile, Vincent had picked up the blue crayon and started making a snowy backdrop. He vaguely noticed Marlene reaching over to pick up the claw and hold it in both chubby little hands. It wasn't as if she could break it.

"What about that?" He turned his head to see Marlene pointing at his left hand.

"You wanted to see the claw, not the glove." _"Or the hand," _he mentally added.

"I wanted to see the hand." _"Child might really be psychic. Drat."_

Vincent put his crayon down, held up his right hand, and wiggled itself fingers at her. "Here it is."

A small smile began to form on Marlene's face. She was slowly catching on, and the sheer absurdity seemed to amuse her. "Noooo, the other one!"

"You mean this one?" Vincent held up his left and wiggled the gloved phalanges

"Yes!" Marlene playfully reached out for the hand, but Vincent kept it just out of reach.

"You didn't specify which one," he said cavalierly, picking up his crayon again.

There was a momentary pause, then "What's 'specify' mean?"

"You didn't tell me which one."

Marlene looked down at the claw in her hand. "Can I play with this?"

"I need it back unscathed, but yes, that is fine."

"What's – "

"Don't break it."

Marlene's face brightened. "OK!" She picked up her doll, and Dolly and Mr. Claw/the Rocket Ship/The Tepee had a most wonderful adventure the rest of the evening.

It wasn't until Vincent heard footsteps at the front door that he paused in his artistic endeavours. He momentarily considered scrambling to his feet and denying the whole thing...

But he concluded it would throw the others off more if he acted as if it were utterly normal.

So this was why when the group walked into bar, they witnessed Marlene playing with Vincent's claw while he sat on the hard wooden floor, drawing with crayons.

Cid pulled up to a full stop in the doorway, causing a back-up behind him. A few squawks and a "hey, move it!" escaped before they absorbed the scene over Cid's shoulder.

Vincent looked up to see the entire troupe gaping at the scene. Utterly unflustered, he returned to his artistic efforts. Marlene finally looked up from her games. "Daddy!" She scrambled over to the lump of humanity in the door way, somehow managing to find Barret's legs in the middle of the throng.

Cid snapped out of whatever zone his mind was in. "Truth is stranger than fiction. This shit doesn't make any sense. I'm going to bed." One by one, they each filed past an extremely focused Vincent.

Finally, all that remained were Tifa and Barret. "Are you up a little late, sweetie?" Barret bent down to scoop her up, wary eyes on Vincent.

"Thunder boomers..." Marlene peered down at the floor, where one of her bunny slippers had dropped off.

Tifa bent down to pick it up and reshod the child. "And you couldn't get back to sleep."

"Didn't try very hard. Daddy, do you want to see my picture?" Marlene started to wiggle, and Barret had to put her down and let himself be tugged over to the table. Vincent was putting the finishing touches on his picture.

"Aw, you did a terrific job. You remembered everybody! Even..." Barret's face faltered slightly at the sight of Aerith, but he reigned it in promptly. "You really got each person...like how they really are." He ran his fingers across the page, pausing on each figure. "I'm going to get Chocobo Head to gimme back my money and get you real art supplies and into a real art school. You're only four, but you're really good."

"I'm almost five, Daddy." Barret mentally counted up the months in his head, eyebrows moving as he counted.

"Yep. You are almost five. Two months. Away." Barret stopped dead for a few moments, no sign of motion or emotion crossing his face. Then with a sudden burst, "Goddamn, I've been away too long." With that, Barret wrapped her in a ferocious bear hug. Marlene was caught a bit off guard, but she happily settled into her father's arms.

Tifa bent over to look into Marlene's face. "I think it's time for you to go to bed, little lady." She gently pressed a finger to Marlene's nose, who smiled at her surrogate mother. "Say goodnight to Uncle Vincent."

Vincent peered up from his work, utterly nonplussed. " Uncle' Vincent?" Tifa nearly laughed at the perturbed look on the man's face.

"More like Uncle Fester," muttered Barret. Tifa gently swatted the man and murmured a very quiet "be nice."

Marlene tapped her father on his chin. "Mr. Valentine was very nice to me. Even when I was scared of the thunder. I feel better now."

Barret had the decency to colour slightly at his child's chastisement. "You're right, baby, I shouldn't be mean." He turned to Vincent. "Thanks for looking after my little girl... you're ok after all. Weird as hell still but-."

"Understood," Vincent gently rumbled, and he diverted his eyes as he carefully got up off the floor. He offered his right hand to Barret, and the larger man used him for leverage without thinking.

Tifa opened her mouth to voice her concerns over Vincent's injuries, but she saw that Barret had only _seemed_ to let Vincent help him up. He didn't want to hurt the man's pride.

"Daddy?" Marlene whispered into her father's ear loudly.

"Mmmm?" He whispered just as loudly.

"Can Mr. Valentine put me to bed?"

"If Mr. Val—"

"Vincent. Not Mr. Valentine, as we are among comrades. Not Uncle Vincent, as I bear no blood in common with you." Vincent stood primly, almost at attention, attempting to establish a role, some sort of standing in this ramshackle, run-down bar, among this small family.

It struck Tifa that this was probably the first indication that Vincent may stay in the world of the living with them. And it made her happy.

"If Vincent's ok with it," Barret finished the sentence. He looked to Vincent, who looked to Marlene, who then extended her arms to Vincent.

And this time, Vincent did pick her up, and she waved goodbye over his shoulder as he carried her to her bedroom to tuck her in.

She settled down in his grasp, head on his shoulder. Marlene listened to Vincent's inner clockwork, literally. The man ticked. She knew some things had happened to him in the past, but now she understood why everything he did was on time and in perfect rhythm – he had a clock inside him! It was comforting, consistent, ever-constant, never-failing…

She was asleep before Vincent tucked the blankets under her chin.

Tifa watched as Barret went upstairs. She stood in the darkness, listening to everyone settle into sleep. She listened to the storm outside. She listened to the bar settle. She walked around, picking up bits and pieces of things leftover from the day. Finally, she stopped to look at Vincent's picture.

There was a man in a long black coat, short black hair, on ice skates. He was holding onto a lady with brown hair and glasses, and both had smiles on their faces as they tried not to fall down on a frozen pond. In the background, distant, there was a big mansion and a fence...

Her heart broke for him.

"I hope she doesn't remember tonight."

Tifa jumped guiltily and in surprise. She turned to see Vincent observing her from the shadows. "So worried about your reputation?"

Here, he surprised her again with a chuckle. "Yes."

Tifa's hands drifted down to collect both pieces of art. "You gave her a happy memory...she doesn't have a lot." Her brow creased in thought. "Not many of us do."

"Cling to what you have, mourn what you have lost...No, not something a little girl should be doing." Vincent reached a hand toward Tifa's – the one containing the drawings.

She stepped away immediately. "Let her be almost-five. Please." Tifa backed toward the ancient fridge and found an unused magnet. She tacked Marlene's picture of them all next to a calendar, a newspaper article, and a shopping list for the Seventh Heaven.

Vincent's inner eye saw Aerith making a similar plea mere months ago. "Let me have mine then."

Tifa silently shook her head. She held the piece of paper with utmost care, but showed no signs of releasing it. "You...you can't be 27 forever. Even if you have been for thirty years."

"It is a happy memory, and you said that we need those," was his matter-of-fact reply.

Tifa looked down at the snowy landscape she held in her hands. "I... I can't explain it." Her eyes looked up at Vincent's. "It's not the same situation. She's a child with a memory...and you're still living for that old memory."

"And why shouldn't –"

"Because you know it's not the whole story. This never was."

Tifa and Vincent stood in silence.


End file.
